


Nobody Sees

by Panic_CelestialInk



Category: Own Stories - Fandom
Genre: Bullying, Child Neglect, Gen, Original Character Death(s), Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2017-07-08
Packaged: 2018-11-29 11:32:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11439984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Panic_CelestialInk/pseuds/Panic_CelestialInk
Summary: “Oh, erm . . . I dropped my stationery in the fishpond,” she said weakly.“Uh-huh. And would Claudia, Tandi or Sarah have anything to do with you dropping your stationery?”She gulped and shook her head. “ N-No, sir.”She was lying, and they both knew it





	Nobody Sees

**Author's Note:**

> Okay. So, I've posted quite a few fanfics on this site, and my Mom said I should try posting an original work. 
> 
> Here it is. I wrote it several years ago, but I'm still proud of it.

 

It was here. She _knew_ it was here . . . somewhere. She grimaced as her hand slid along the slimy bottom of the fishpond. It had to be here—she’d seen her pen fall this side of the pond when Claudia, Sarah and Tandi had thrown her stationery here. She sighed, and darted a nervous glance around her. There was no one around, but that was unsurprising. The teachers forbade  any students from playing anywhere near the fishpond, especially since Adrian Hobb nearly drowned in it. She pulled her thoughts away from the other students and concentrated on finding her pen. She pushed aside more reeds and reached deeper into the green water. She had a few minutes still, she could probably find it before—

 

“Amy Sanderson? What are you doing over here?”

 

Amy jerked her hand out the water, sending droplets scattering in all directions.

 

“Oh, Mr. Nkosi, I-I didn’t see you there” Amy stammered as she scrambled to her feet.

 

Mr Nkosi raised an eyebrow, but said nothing as Amy tried to hide her dripping arm behind her back. He fiddled with his tie, which was, as usual, askew, and fixed her with a piercing stare from behind his glasses.

 

“What are you doing here, Amy? This area is off-limits to students.”

 

Amy flushed. Mr. Nkosi taught her and the other fourteen-year-olds English, and he was her favourite teacher, mainly because he enjoyed making the glass perform all the gory and dramatic scenes to get them excited about the books.

 

“Oh, erm . . . I dropped my stationery in the fishpond,” she said weakly.

 

“Uh-huh. And would Claudia, Tandi or Sarah have anything to do with you _dropping_ your stationery?”

 

She gulped and shook her head. “ N-No, sir.”

 

She was lying, and they both knew it. Before Mr. Nkosi could ask anything more, the solemn boom of the school bell echoed across the grounds. He shook his head.

 

“Why don’t you go clean yourself up, Amy, before you go to your next class?” he suggested, eyeing the streaks of green slime on her arm. “I’ll speak to your teacher about it.”

 

“Thanks, sir.”

 

Amy didn’t look back as she dashed off to the bathroom. If she had, she would have seen that Mr. Nkosi had gritted his teeth in order to suppress his impotent anger.

 

 ***

 

Amy ran the tap water over her arm. The algae was proving to be stubbornly resistant her attempts to scrub it off. She glanced at her watch again. She was out of time. She shook her arm dry, and risked a glance in the mirror. The same, haunted reflection glanced back at her. Her brown hair hung limply on the sides of her face, and her eyes only looked slightly red and swollen. With luck, no one would notice she had been crying.  She turned away from the mirror and started to the door. She heard voices on the other side.

 

Horror froze her for a second.

 

She stumbled backwards, staggered into a cubicle and fumbled with the lock. She sat on the toilet seat and yanked her feet off the ground. Not a second too soon. Sarah, Claudia and Tandi entered the bathroom. Amy clutched her knees to her chest and squeezed her eyes shut. Though she couldn’t see them, their faces were branded in her memory. Sarah, with her cropped blonde hair, Claudia’s dark,  cruel eyes, and Tandi’s white, vicious smile.

 

_Don’t see me. Don’t see me. Don’tseemedon’tseemedon’tseeme,_ Amy chanted silently in her head.

 

She heard them moving around on the other side of the door. One of them turned on the taps, and began splashing her face.

 

“How late are we?” Sarah asked.

 

“Who cares?” Claudia said. “ It’s not like we’re missing anything important anyway.”

 

“Yeah, Mr. Nkosi always repeats himself in case people miss class. Stupid man.”

 

They cackled for a few moments. Amy could picture them, fixing their make-up—which they wore despite the school prohibiting it—or running their fingers through their hair to work out the tangles.

 

“Anyone got gum?” Claudia asked.

 

“Sure. Cherry or mint?”

 

“Mint.”

 

There was dead silence after that, and Amy cautiously began to hope that they’d  left, when Claudia suddenly snorted with laughter.

 

“Tell me you saw her face?”

 

“Who?”  Sarah asked.

 

“Amy, when we threw her stuff into the fishpond. It was _hilarious._ ”

 

“Not as funny as the time we threw her lunch down the toilet,”  Tandi disagreed.

 

“No, the funniest was when we pulled down her skirt and underwear in front of all the boys. I nearly died laughing.”

 

The words sliced Amy open. She tried to remember how to breathe, as she listened to her tormentor’s recount her tortures. Though they left a few moments later, it was a long time before Amy could bring herself to leave the safety of the bathroom.

 

 ***

 

The grim tone of the school bell reverberated down the halls, signalling the end of the school day. The sound had Amy bolting out of her chair and down the corridor before her teacher could say “Class dismissed”.  Her footsteps rang against the cold tiles, and her heart hammered  in her ears. She knew, like all prey does, that the girls would be right behind her.  And, like all prey, she had a bolt hole where she could be safe. Down the corridor, take a left, then right, up two flights of stairs, down another corridor, take a short cut through a classroom, turn left and then run down the last straight stretch.

 

She skidded to a halt in front of the imposing wooden doors. She grabbed the brass handles, yanked it open and slipped inside. The door slammed shut behind her, and she sagged against it. She brought one hand to her chest, to calm her thundering heart.  She basked in the feeling of peace that came with being in a library. Then, she straightened  up, and fixed  the suitcase she had strapped to her back. Amy gave a shy nod to the librarian as she skittered past the librarian’s oversized desk. A smile tugged at the corners of the librarian’s mouth, and she gave a little wave to her most frequent—and probably most timid—patron.

 

Amy carefully made her way through the labyrinthine shelves. Her fingers drummed across the spines of her paper-and-ink companions in a casual greeting. She relished the silence, the warmth, of the library. After a moment of dithering between the shelves, she selected one of her old favourites—a black paperback with a red dragon on the front, and the familiar smell of aging paper—and took it to her favourite corner of the library. The floor there was warmer, and she could tuck her jersey between her back and the wall to make a comfortable, make-shift seat. She opened the book with a sigh of pleasure and let the familiar rhythms of the words sweep her away.

 

 

“Sweetie?”

 

Amy started. She blinked up at the librarian in confusion.

 

“What’s wrong?”

 

“Sweetie, it’s almost half past five. We’re closing in a few minutes.”

 

“Oh.” Suddenly, Amy was aware of her cramping muscles and the ache in her back. She awkwardly clambered to her feet.

 

The librarian glanced at the book in her hand.  “Would you like to take that home?”

 

“No, thanks.” She had her own copy sitting on the shelf of her bedroom.

 

She handed over the book, and managed a small wave, as she left the library.

 

***

 

The school was deserted, as quiet as a ghost town. A playful wind nipped at her heels. She shivered,  and  made her way out of the school. It wasn’t far to her home, if she hurried. She slipped out of one of the gates, just as the security guards came to lock it behind her, and started up the road. The sun had set, leaving behind a muted,  grey world that preluded the coming of night. The few cars on the road screeched past, belching clouds of smog into the air. Night quickly came, and by the end of her walk, Amy had taken to flitting between streetlamps, and jumping at every sound.

 

It was almost a relief to be home. Almost.

 

For a second, she stared up at the imposing stone wall, letting her eyes trail across the vines that strangled it. If she peeped through the iron gate, she saw her house, squatting menacingly between two large pine trees. The windows stared at her like dead, black eyes.

 

_It looks like something out of a horror movie._

 

The thought made her shiver. She quickly reached into her pocket for her keys. She fumbled a little with them, before slipping inside the gate and slamming it shut behind her.

 

The house was empty, as she’d known it would be. She didn’t even have to read the sticky note attached to the front door.

 

_Hi Honey._

_I won’t be home tonight. I’m staying over at Hal’s. Make sure you lock up the house before going to sleep._

_Love Mom_

 

She dumped her bag by the front door, and set about closing the curtains, and checking all the locks. Once she was satisfied everything was shut, she headed to her room. She wasn’t hungry—and she was sure that there was some bread and cheese in the house. Once she cut the mould off, it should be fine to eat.

 

She heaved a sigh, and went straight to her bed. She flopped down onto it, and clutched her pillow. Tears leaked from her eyes. She didn’t even notice the slight creak her bed made, so she jumped when she felt a hand on her shoulder.

 

A man was sitting beside her, but he was unlike any man she’d ever seen before. His skin had a silvery sheen. His hair was long and dark, and his eyes were a piercing gold. Light and shadow chased each other across his face.

 

“Hello Amy,” he said, gently.

 

Logically, Amy knew she should be frightened—terrified—but there was something about his presence . . . it was warm and comforting. It eased the ache in her soul. She sat up, wiping her eyes with the heels of her palms.

 

“W-who are you?” she stammered.

 

His lips quirked. “An old friend.”

 

“How . . . how did you get here?”

 

His eyes flicked quickly to the window. Amy followed his gaze. The window was still locked. Through the gap in the curtains, she could see the full moon hanging in the star-scattered sky. Strangely, its silvery sheen seemed to be replicated in the man’s skin.

 

“That’s not really important.” Those intense eyes were suddenly focused back on her. “Amy, are you happy?”

 

The question caught her off guard. “Of-of course,” she stammered with a brittle smile.

 

It was the look. That terrible, understanding gaze that destroyed all her defences, and sent tears streaming down her cheeks. Carefully, the man tilted her head up and wiped away the tears with the pads of his thumbs.

 

“You weren’t meant to be unhappy, you know.”

 

“What?”

 

“No child is meant to be unhappy. Certainly not as unhappy as you are.”

 

Amy pulled away from him, and hugged her knees to her chest. She couldn’t speak past the lump in her throat. The man simply watched her. For a moment she saw something warring in his gaze. After a pause, he spoke again.

 

“Would you like me to take you away?”

 

“ _What?!”_ she managed to choke out.

 

“Would you like to come with me?” He held out his hand to her.

 

She stared at his hand for a long moment. “Where would we go?”

 

“To a better place. To a place where you would be happy.”

 

“W-would I have friends there?”

 

“Yes,” he said kindly.

 

“Would I be alone?”

 

“Never.”

 

“Would people,” her voice cracked. “would people love me there?”

 

“Yes.”

 

There was no lie in his voice. Amy put her hand in his.

 

“Okay.”

 

****

 

They discovered her body the next morning. Her limbs were stiff and cold, but her eyes were closed, as if she was simply sleeping. There was a bottle of pills clutched in her left hand. On her face was the happiest look that had ever been seen on a child’s face.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so sorry. I know this is a very sad piece, but it was something that really moved me.
> 
> As always, feedback and constructive criticism is appreciated.


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